


Not There Long Enough

by CelticGHardy



Category: The Following
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticGHardy/pseuds/CelticGHardy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike couldn’t believe that he was three days into the BAU and someone was already using him as a hostage against a guy he only knew for a grand total of two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not There Long Enough

**Author's Note:**

> From a throwaway line in It Must Be Right. Also, warning for some violence. And swearing. The violence isn't graphic like blood and guts, there are punches.

The day had started out nicely. Mike got a coffee from the shop he had discovered earlier. They made a mocha that was just the perfect blend. He went back to his car and had the driver's side undone when someone shoved a gun next to his spinal column. “Enter into the car very slowly,” the person behind him ordered. He picked up that it was a male, slight accent generated from California.

He sounded determined, possibly angry. Any attempts to talk him out of kidnapping him would end in potential injury or death. Also, he wasn't good at fighting people. Another way of possible death. He carefully entered the car and the gun moved up to his head to accommodate before the man tried to open the door. The unsaid command of unlocking was heard and he paused, wondering whether he should just slam the door on the man's wrist. He could hope that the gun would drop, he would be able to call for backup and then just get into work. However, the gun was back outside the car, and while he could shut his door quickly, getting the ignition started and driving wouldn't give him enough time to drive away from the bullets.

The next time he felt the gun; he was unable to do anything, the man already in the backseat. “Drive,” he insisted. Mike gave up any thoughts on fighting and just followed the directions the man laid out.

Their destination was an office building that had been cleared and cleaned out a couple of years before, if the dust on the floor was any indication. Mike was forced out of the car, not allowed to grab anything. He had to leave his coffee behind. It seemed petty to think about, but it was better than panicking. They reached the floor he must have wanted after seven floors of stairs. The space where some business had been was completely bare of almost everything except the smallest things. He forced Mike into the center of it. “Throw everything to the ground,” the man commanded, weapon at his head, “Badge, gun, handcuffs, everything. On the ground, at my feet.”

He carefully laid his gun down and kicked it over. Then it was joined by his badge, cell phone, handcuffs and anything else he knew he wouldn't be able to get away with keeping. There was still a knife under his pant leg and another in his back pocket. Once he was finished, he waited for the next instructions.

Instead, he was punched in the face. It hurt, his nose radiating the most pain. It didn't knock him down, and that apparently what the man had been going for, slamming into him and dragging him down. He started to hit back, the gun thrown at some point. He had two good punches to his chest before his head was banged into the floor.

The concrete floor.

Dazed and head in pain, his own handcuffs were used to bind his wrists behind his back. Forced onto his stomach, he barely paid attention to the man walking around. He was muttering to himself, and getting farther away. _Shit, get up Mike. Get up._ The command reached his legs, but it didn't motivate them or his head, which was throbbing. He barely made it to his knees before the man came back, proud over something. His head was pulled back and duct tape was stuck on his mouth before he wrapped it around a couple of times. Then, he was pushed down so the man could tape his legs, wrapping them halfway up his pants before positioning him so he would be sitting up.

The small pile had been scattered during the fight, and the man cleaned it up before selecting his phone. He had just gotten a new one with a camera for any possible crime scenes in the future. The man searched for the function and took a couple of pictures of him, before doing something else. He smiled as he finished and kept his phone.

Mike glared at the man. First his coffee, then his phone. Soon, he wasn't going to have his life. That sent a slight wave of panic. There was nowhere to hide on the floor. He didn't know who the man was leading here. His handcuff keys had been pocketed and he didn't have enough flexibility to get his hands in front. With his knife which would be taken when noticed.

 _Wait, there was the picking seminar at Quantico. Agent Burke used a safety pin to get out of them once. And his consultant told us other things. Paperclips also work. I'm in a former office. There should be some around._ Carefully, he scanned the floor for the items. The man was looking out the windows and didn't pay attention to him. Finally, he saw something glinting over a few feet away. _Yes!_

Before he could start moving, his phone started ringing. The man checked the ID and smiled. “Agent Riley,” he answered. There must have been yelling or harsh words at the other end, because he turned angry quickly. “Now is that something you really want to say to someone that has a gun and a hostage?” Demonstrating for the agent, he pulled out the gun and shot twice into the ground just beside Mike. He recoiled from the area, seeing two holes showing up in the concrete.

“Understanding it now? Case B dash six seven four three two. It was around two thousand four. I'll give you fifteen minutes. And come alone.” He shut off the phone and stood beside Mike. He wouldn't be able to get to the paperclips he saw without alerting the man.

It was a long twenty minutes, and he was about to call again before the far door opened and Agent Riley walked onto the floor, He had a vest on, and one gun clipped to his belt. He caught sight of them quickly, and began moving over. “Hey, Weston,” he called out.

The man's gun was out and pointed at Mike's head within five seconds. “Lay your gun there before coming forward,” he forced. The agent knelt down and set it down without revealing his backside. _Second firearm._

“You don't need to keep your gun on him,” he coaxed, holding his hands out, “Let's make this even for the both of us.”

“Even? Fair?” he laughed, pushing the gun further on Mike. “Like the same time when you arrested my cousin?”

“With the evidence presented...” he started, before two more gunshots were let off just beside Mike.

“Evidence? What evidence?” he roared, “You work based on how people think? Not everyone has the same thoughts when committing a crime.” Riley started trying to get closer, but the man dragged Mike with him away. 

Right over the paperclips. 

Grabbing one, he hurried and unraveled it while the man ranted above him. “Nothing physical connected him to the scene.” He felt for the hole and stuck an end in. “Since he was by himself during the crimes, he was considered to have no alibi.” He wiggled it enough to push the inside lever down and get the side out. “He just fit your perfect profile.” He tried getting the other off.

“After we talked to him...” he tried.

“You coerced him!” he yelled, “You played him into confessing! And then it turned out to be someone else, but the damage was already done. Everyone rejected him; he was fired from his job. He killed himself. And now I'm going to kill him for your mistake.”

Riley went for his second gun, but he wasn't fast enough. Mike brought up his hands, now free of the cuffs, and grabbed the wrist with the gun. He dragged him down so the gun wasn't anywhere near his head. There were two shots and the gun clattered to the floor as the arm had been shot. “Suspect down. Weston's safe,” he reported into the small comm unit, before running over. Mike had snatched the gun away so the man couldn't get to it. “Nice job,” he complemented, holding the man down and using the handcuffs offered. He could only nod and wait for the backup to get upstairs.

Downstairs, after the medic had gotten the tape off and he was sitting in the back of the ambulance, he saw Riley walk over after talking with Director Strauss. “His name is David Poste. In two-thousand three, we suspected his cousin in the deaths of four boys. We held him, and he told us he did it, but his versions didn't match up with the crimes,” he explained, “When we let him out, it was after we had the actual killer. But the confession had reached the press, and the town kept believing he had a hand it in, even after the actual murderer was linked.”

“Were you lead?” he asked.

“Hell, no. I had to deliver the profile to the press; it was my face that everyone saw.” He sat down beside Mike and he felt the vehicle drop a bit. “So, there's been some discussion.”

He dropped his head. “Where am I demoted to?”

He laughed, sort of amused that was his first thought. “You're not demoted. You're getting a partner.” He nudged him slightly, indicating himself. Mike turned up at him, kinda surprised. “You're still a newbie though.”

He half-smiled, “I kinda figured.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, did I throw in White Collar? Oops. ~~Well, they already insinuated Criminal Minds and I added to it.~~
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://veryrealimagination.tumblr.com/post/51931433069/fic)


End file.
